


Feeling Hot (And Cold)

by Hils



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-06 09:02:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/417113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hils/pseuds/Hils
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Cas, he’s fine. He’s just sick. What did I tell you about not taking everything Dean says so literally?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feeling Hot (And Cold)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to zatnikatel for the beta and the prompt

The sneeze Dean lets out as he’s crossing the room from the bathroom back to his bed rocks his whole body and stops him in his tracks, before it’s immediately followed by two equally violent ones.

“You okay?” Sam asks, barely looking up from his laptop. He wrinkles his nose when he sees Dean inspecting his hands curiously where he’s sneezed all over them. “You want a Kleenex?”

Dean shakes his head and wipes his hands on the end of Sam’s bed before climbing back into his own with a low groan.

“Dude! Keep your bodily fluids in your own bed.”

Sam will never understand how Dean manages to get laid as much as he does considering how disgusting his brother is. Although it’s not really an issue now that Cas is on the scene. Dean could skip washing for a month and Cas would still look at him like he was the whole world.

Dean lets out a grunt and kicks his blankets onto the floor. “It’s too damn hot in here. Open a window, will you, Sam?”

“It’s not hot, you just have a fever. If I open the window you’re going to end up with pneumonia and remember how much fun that _wasn’t_ the last time?”

Instead of replying Dean simply sneezes again. This time he wipes his hands on his t-shirt. “My head hurts,” he moans a few minutes later. “I want more Tylenol. And I’m cold.”

Sam sighs and switches his laptop off, knowing full well he’s not going to get anything done until Dean eventually falls asleep. “You just took some Tylenol so you can’t have any more for a few hours,” he chides. He picks Dean’s blankets up off the floor and drapes them over his brother. “Better?”

Dean shakes his head and sneezes again, this time clutching his brow and moaning into his pillow. “I think I’m dying, Sammy.”

Sam purses his lips. They made a deal a while back never to joke about dying. Not after everything they’ve been through.

He almost stumbles backwards when Cas appears right in front of him a fraction of a second later.

Cas frowns, apparently surprised to find himself in a motel room, and his eyes quickly hone in on Dean’s huddled form. “Dean? Are you injured? I came as soon as I heard you were dying.”

Sam snorts. “Cas, he’s fine. He’s just sick. What did I tell you about not taking everything Dean says so literally?”

“That I should not.” 

“I _am_ dying,” Dean’s muffled voice comes out from under the blankets. “Sam doesn’t know shit.”

Sam just grins. “Cas, can you stay a while?”

“I can stay for as long as Dean needs me.”

Of course he can, and Sam feels like punching the air. “Great! He’s your patient now. I’m checking into the room next door so I can get some sleep. Have fun!”

He shoves his laptop into his bag and is out of the door before either Dean or Cas can protest.

Dean coughs into his pillow and lets out a soft groan when the jarring of his body causes his already aching head to pound even worse.

“You don’t have to stay, man. I’m fine.”

Silence.

When he finally manages to raise his head from the pillow, Dean expects Cas to be gone already. Instead the light is on in the bathroom and he can hear the water running. Cas emerges a moment later carrying a bowl of water. He sets the bowl down beside the bed and picks up several empty takeout cartons with a look of disdain.

“You know, Dean, I can’t help but think that perhaps your health would be more stable if you ate more vegetables.”

“You sound like Sam,” Dean mutters before he starts coughing again. 

Cas returns to the side of the bed and takes a seat beside Dean, reaching out and brushing a hand over Dean’s brow. It feels cool and awesome and Dean doesn’t want him to let go. He almost whimpers when Cas’ hand withdraws but a moment later there’s a damp washcloth gently swiping over his face, and that feels even better. “Where’d you learn to be a nurse?” he asks. “Can we buy you one of those outfits?”

“I have watched over humanity for thousands of years, Dean,” Cas replies, and Dean can hear the amused smile in his voice. “You might say I learned a thing or two on how to care for the human body. I remade you, after all.”

The cloth is now making methodical swipes across Dean’s chest and it feels so damn awesome that he can’t stop the moan from escaping his lips.

Cas stops.

“Am I causing you discomfort?”

Dean shakes his head but all that does make his headache flare up, and he bites back another groan. He hears rather than sees Cas put the cloth back into the bowl.

“Don’t stop, man,” he protests when it becomes apparent his bed bath is over. “You didn’t hurt me. Just my goddamn head.”

When he finally forces his eyes open Cas is already halfway undressed, his clothes folded neatly on top of the dresser at the end of the bed. Normally he’d come out with a comment about the impromptu striptease show he’s getting but he’s hurt and tired, and in all honesty he’s just glad Cas is staying. He’d rather stab himself in the leg than admit that out loud though.

Cas eases himself into bed behind Dean and carefully maneuvers them until Dean’s back is resting against Cas’ chest and he’s sitting nestled between Cas’ legs.

“You’ll sleep easier sitting up,” Cas explains, his voice a low rumble in Dean’s ear and his breath warm on Dean’s neck. “Just relax.”

He starts gently massaging Dean’s temples and Christ it feels good. Cas isn’t even using any of his mojo, or at least Dean doesn’t think he is, but the pain in his aching head is already receding. He moans and slumps back against Cas, who’s now tracing circles beneath Dean’s eyes where his sinuses had been killing him.

“Can I keep you?” Dean asks, as a warm lethargy spreads through his body. He hasn’t slept properly since he first started to get sick.

Cas presses a kiss to the top of his head. “You’ll always have me, Dean. Whenever you need me I’ll come.”

If Dean was feeling more with it he’d have made a crude joke at this point, but he’s so comfortable he lets out a contented hum and allows himself to drift off.

* * *

When Dean wakes, the first thing he’s aware of is the familiar mouth-watering scent of his favorite apple pie tingling in his nose, and it’s quickly followed by the realization that he can smell anything at all – which is a major improvement on last night. 

“Did you get breakfast?” he murmurs into his pillow, reaching behind him for Cas.

His hand finds only a cool, empty space and he lets out a sigh. He really should be used to Cas disappearing without a word but there’s still that part of him that can’t help thinking that one day Cas is going to disappear and he’s not going to come back.

Dean lies there for a moment, hand still resting in the space where Cas had been lying the night before. Cas is gone, and a quick glance shows him that Sam’s bed is still empty. 

He’s alone.

Again.

He takes a deep breath and figures he should be grateful that he can even do that after how shitty he felt the night before. It doesn’t really make him feel better, though. In fact he’s pretty sure he’s just going to spend the day in bed regardless of the fact that he feels fine.

His eyes have just drifted closed when the motel room door bangs open, and he’s reaching for his knife before he’s even fully aware of what’s happening.

“I thought you said he was better?”

By the time Dean realizes he’s not about to be murdered in his bed, Sam is standing beside him looking down with a frown, as though being in the same room as Dean will cause him to catch something.

“He is,” Castiel replies, appearing beside Sam. “Or he was.”

“Dude, I’m fine,” Dean protests, as Castiel reaches down to take his temperature.

Sam doesn’t looking convinced. “But there’s pie. And you haven’t eaten it.”

Dean follows Sam’s gaze to the apple pie sitting on the nightstand beside his bed, and he now realizes that it wasn’t an awesome dream that woke him up. The pie is still steaming, which means it’s freshly baked and also that it hasn’t been there for very long.

His eyes shoot back to Cas.

“I simply stepped out for a moment to invite your brother to join us for breakfast,” Castiel explains. “I’m sorry if my absence caused you concern.”

Dean resists the urge to smile and snorts instead. “Concern? Now that you’re back it just means there’s less pie for me.”

Sam beams. “Yeah, he’s fine. Now let’s eat.”

Dean scrambles out of bed and pulls on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, while Sam sits down and Cas cuts the pie. He can barely remember how shitty he felt the night before because he’s not sick now and he has pie and he has Sam and Cas.

He has family.

And who the hell cares about anything else?


End file.
